Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

“You see McLaughlin back there? Wearing his fucking dashiki? White motherfuckers should stick to khakis and fucking tuxedos. Second you venture outside that bullshit, you make fools out of yourselves. Boy looks like an usher at a theater for perverts.”

–a question?

“Yeah, fuck it. Ask away.”

Why did you always play your trumpet facing downward?

“Shit’s heavy.”

Sure.

“Ain’t no one paying me for my fucking posture. You think this is something? This ain’t shit. Look at this, motherfucker.”

Wow. It’s almost like you’re trying to fold yourself in half.

“Sometimes I like to play to my dick. Only one in the fucking room understands what I’m doing half the time. Other times, I’m looking at my shoes.”

Why?

“I got beautiful shoes, motherfucker.”

That’s true.

“And once again the white man pigeonholes the black man. Only lets him be one motherfucking thing. I got fucking multitudes in me. Check this shit out.”

The horn’s going straight up now.

“You ain’t as dumb as you look. I can do it all. Horn down, up, whatever. Besides, I play this way and I don’t got to look at that motherfucker’s sad-ass afro. Shit, that thing’s terrible. Hey, Gary. Gary.”

“Yeah, Miles?”

“Go stand behind the curtain until you ain’t ugly no more.”

Stop bullying Gary Bartz, Mr. Davis.

“Goddamn, you got me all riled up now. Motherfuckers coming into my headspace and fucking it up. I need to go the health club and take a swim.”

“Motherfuckers wanna start from the front, but that’s the white man lying to them. Back is the place to begin. Get all your little curly shits all wrapped up tight back there. Then you cover the front.”

“Voila, motherfucker.”

Mr. Davis, why the cap?

“You think this shit I got on my head is natural, motherfucker? Can’t be dipping a fucking process in a swimming pool. Teach you peckerwoods nothing at school, I swear.”

May I ask one more question?

“Ask me while I’m fucking swimming.”

What happened to the cap?

“I got mad at a white lady and slapped her with it.”

And why the sunglasses?

“Bright as a motherfucker in here.”

You’re indoors.

“Shut the fuck up. Watch me do the breaststroke.”

Okay.

“I can frog kick like a motherfucker.”

This has gone to a place I did not expect.

“Okay, now spot me, motherfucker.”

What?

I’m leaving.

“If you find that Garcia motherfucker, tell him to come by.”

The gym? I can tell you right now he won’t come by the gym.

BANG!

I’ll send him to the house.

“Better.”

Where are you even keeping that gun?

“Worry about yourself.”

Yes, sir.

Related

13 Comments

Gary Bartz was/ is great, glad you noticed. Also had some great straight-up jazz albums of his own (see Another Earth). But he’s probably best known for his sax break on Phyllis Hyman’s Betcha by Golly Wow, from Norman Connors’ You Are my Starship in the mid-70s. I’d guess that’s where his best royalties come in from anyway,